Night Terror
by Guardian Kysra
Summary: A ficlet about Tea, her boys, and the psychological scars left by their adventures.
1. Night Terrors I

**_Night Terror_**

**__**

_By Kysra_

They have grown accustomed to waking to the sound of a late night phone call or the frantic pounding of her fists at the front door.  It is routine now to be pulled from sleep by the cool touch of her trembling fingers as she caresses a cheek or brushes wayward bangs from their faces.  Their windows are always open to her panicked, impromptu visits.  They know her need.

It confuses them, how she smiles in the day, carrying on as if she doesn't remember the choking sobs and heartbroken pleas – _Don't leave me.  Please, don't leave me.  _It is as if she doesn't remember how she comes to them in the dead of night when all is quiet and calm, can't recall the hard pace of her heart beating against theirs as they hold her close and whisper their lives into her, and won't admit to the fear that watches through her eyes, waiting to pounce into her dreams.

She has told at least one of them what drives her to seek their voices when the darkness becomes too heavy and the memories are too much to bear alone.  There is a moment, when the silence is thick, that she can feel the eyes of the madmen hunting them.  They hide within the shadows – shapeless and night-kissed – watching and patient to break her.  Their eyes are black and cold.  Their touch freezes her skin.  Their presence is a curse within her house, marking her and all whom she loves.  She is afraid of them.  They hiss into her soul – _Dead.  They're dead.  You live in a dream world.  They're dead._  She believes them, knows their mantra of hate to be true. 

Then, she wakes, shaking and clawing at the air - at the ghosts inside her mind - only to find herself alone.  Terror urges her to the phone, to seek the assurance of their voices; and when words are not enough, she runs to find the warmth of their skin and the solid comfort of their bodies. 

And they never ask her to stop, for though they cannot stand the sight of her tears, cannot fight the source of her fear with anything but themselves, they can acknowledge – silently – that they feel a similar scare in the night, a familiar little knowledge that she may not be well or even alive.  When she comes to them, their fears are put to rest until the next night when the heat of her tears and soft wind of her breath once more proves that the phantoms are wrong.

She will never know how often they wake in a cold sweat and reach for the phone but never pick it up, how many times they glance at her through the day to memorize her face, how many ways they love her, or that, when she sleeps, they cry for her too.

Owari

**_Author's Note_**:  This idea has tugged at me for a long while.  In my humble opinion, the kids of YGO (and make no mistake – they ARE just kids) see and experience a LOT of freaky shit.  There's _no way_ they've come out of all of that without SOME form of mental/emotional scarring.


	2. Night Terrors II

Originally a response to one of Mamono's challenge. Theme #8: Thunderstorm.

**_Night Terrors II  
_By Kysra**_  
_

It was probably the stupidest thing he had ever done, but Mokuba, who knew his older brother better than anyone, understood that the Puppy Eyes could win him anything (Seto was only too glad that the younger Kaiba did not abuse such a potent weapon). And so it was that Téa Gardner could be found spending the week at the Kaiba mansion, because Mokuba could not leave well enough alone (he couldn't stand the thought of one of his best friends being home alone for so long) and Seto was a helpless victim when it came to a Puppy Eyes/Pout combination.

As a result, Seto had come to the conclusion that he would stay out of the Cheerleader's way, and summarily locked himself up in his office, prepared to spend the entire week there if need be. He had been largely successful, and by the third day, he could convince himself that she wasn't there at all.

Unfortunately, a thunderstorm changed all that.

On the fourth night, a raging storm decided to christen Domino with gusting winds, sheets upon sheets of rain, marble-sized hail, and a fearsome display of lightning and thunder. Seto thought it was beautiful, but Téa – if her frequent shrieks were any indication – hated it.

By midnight, the storm had not subsided and neither had Gardner's agitated yelps, Seto was determined that his brother's routine would not be diverted. And so, stomping towards Mokuba's room, he found his brother already asleep, pieces of cotton shoved in his ears to drown out the noise of storm and girl. Then, against his better judgment, Seto left to check on their "guest."

She lay, her body balled up in a fetal position, sleeping face hidden behind a curtain of hair. Again, against his better judgment, he approached her slowly, noting the tremble of her shoulders and the fisted hands clutching at the collar of her nightshirt. Brushing her hair from her face, he was struck by the gleaming tears standing against her cheek and across the bridge of her nose. Her lips whispered nonsense in shaky little gasps, and he became certain she was having a nightmare even as a loud crash of thunder sounded outside, effectively taking the electricity with it and roughly waking Gardner.

He watched as she lay there for long, silent moments, her breath coming in short, harsh rasps, eyes frantically searching out the new darkness only to find his shadowed hulk. He became alarmed as she shot up to back away, a trembling hand coming up to her mouth as she let out a silent scream of fright.

"D . . . don't. Not again."

And then he realized what she was afraid of. Mokuba had similar nightmares. It had taken some time to understand how to assure him. Seto wondered if she would allow him to assure her. He wondered if he wanted her to.

"It's me, Gardner."

"Kaiba?"

He was accustomed to her sounding energetic, encouraging, righteous, or angry. This broken, scared little girl whose voice had been stolen, could not be the same person who had faced him down at Duelist Kingdom, could not be the brave, dedicated woman who so selflessly (and foolishly) disregarded her own safety in favor of helping her friends.

"Are you going to kill me?"

He was glad the dark masked him, because he did not relish feeling or looking shocked, "What?"

There was a long silence as her breathing calmed and she shifted closer, "I'm sorry. I . . . I have nightmares, and it gets hard to tell what's real sometimes."

She sounded subdued and visibly jumped when lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. The flash of fresh tears was also visible in those brief moments of illumination. It was the tears that made the decision for him.

"You're coming to bed with me."

"WHAT!"

"When Mokuba has nightmares, I let him sleep with me."

"Oh . . . Tristan, Joey, and Yugi do the same thing with me."

He chose to let that pass. He knew it was probably innocent.

They shuffled quietly down the hallowed halls, his hand clasped around hers since she barely knew her way when the place was lit let alone steeped in darkness, and when they reached his bedroom, he deliberately slid in first before extending his arm to her. Hesitantly, she also slid beneath the covers, facing him, and for long moments, all they did was stare at each other, his expression a mixture of calm and annoyance while hers remained afraid and tearful.

Finally, she found the courage to ask, "Hold me?"

Telling himself that it didn't mean anything, that it was just another way to comfort her, he complied, resting his chin atop her head, one arm wrapped about her shoulders while the other belted her waist. And as she snuggled down into the reluctant embrace, he noted the evening of her breath, the relaxing of her body against his, and the sudden realization that this was nothing like holding Mokuba.

But he did not have time to explore that realization as his own breathing evened out into the cadence of sleep.


End file.
